


When You Think You're Thinking Clear

by kycantina



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: M/M, Post-Break Up, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21836386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kycantina/pseuds/kycantina
Summary: Baz can't pretend that the forest isn't on fire, that his life isn't ending as quickly as he wishes it would.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554328
Kudos: 7
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	When You Think You're Thinking Clear

Baz can't pretend that the forest isn't on fire, that his life isn't ending as quickly as he wishes it would. This time, there's no Simon, nothing to anchor himself to, no bright red wings to pull him out of it this time. Baz wakes with a bitten-through lip, with blood covering his pillow, dripping onto his sheets. Like the night before, there's no Simon, nothing holding him to the Earth. Like the week, the month, the past two years before. 

Coming up on the third anniversary of their funeral, the night Baz had lit all his candles and watch them burn, the night he'd imagined not so accidentally knocking one over, breath in the smoke and let it go. There would've been no Snow, no kiss dragging him up from the bottom, nothing but the kitchen floor and the smell of wax. It would've been easy, but Baz had always thought of it that way. He didn't cry (he felt like he should've), instead, pulling his laptop across the floor and working on his political science paper (it felt right, for once. maybe the only thing right for Baz was an expensive suit and a job in the finance sector). Baz didn't dream of him that night, didn't have Simon Snow induced nightmares that night, like he so often did. It was almost a relief.

Tonight isn't like that. Baz can't help but swallow the bile that rises to his throat when he looks at himself in the mirror. The blood doesn't come out as quickly as it used to, leaving pink streaks down his neck, past where the scar should've been (he'd outgrown it somewhere around twelve, and hated himself for it). Baz goes through half a pack of makeup wipes before he can look something along the lines of okay, but it doesn't matter. It's not like there's anyone to impress.


End file.
